


"Your Witness, Mr. Lampkin"

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, Masturbation, Memories, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Fantasy, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From prompts for "Romo/Anyone, plus prompts on headcanon re: Laura Roslin/Joseph Adama, set in the aftermath of Baltar's trial</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Your Witness, Mr. Lampkin"

Guilty was just a verdict. As a feeling, it was a total waste of valuable time. Romo turned on his side and tried again to sleep. Green eyes swimming with hurt kept coming to mind, overlaid with hundreds of others, eyes of witnesses he’d destroyed on the stand, poking and pulling secrets out of people unable to lie under oath. 

Lee had done a hideously competent job at dragging the truth out of Madam President. 

He wondered if she knew she’d gotten off easy. 

He wondered what she would have done if he’d taken over, sidled up to the witness stand, and asked the question he’d been wanting to ask since he realized who she was.

_Would you describe for the court, Madam President, your past relationship with Joseph Adama?_

Maybe she would have begged him not to do this, like she had Lee. That thought had him disgustingly hard. He’d never gone in for dominance games with his wife, but he could hear Joe’s drunk-slow words describing a young Laura Roslin on her knees, his cock in her mouth…

His hand began moving in time to the cadence of remembered confessions.

The first time, Joe ran into him at one of the local lawyer bars after a contentious case. Already two sheets to the wind before Romo sat down, the old attorney had dropped something when he scrabbled in his wallet for a ten-cubit bill. 

The picture was creased and worn, but age didn’t hide the beauty of the auburn-haired girl with sea-green eyes. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Joe had caught him looking…and began the first of many stories about the summer of Miss Laura Roslin. She had let him do anything, everything he wanted. Romo thought at the time either the old man was lying or the young woman had been exorcising her own hellish demons, but either way it gave him wonderfully filthy material for lonely nights. 

His hand moved faster, sliding, gripping. 

He pictured her blushing, stammering as he hammered away with questions about her married lover. All to establish her character, he’d say. Her integrity. He’d ask her if it was true she’d let Joseph Adama perform cunnilingus on her until her nails gouged his polished mahogany desk. Did she deny that she had intercourse with him in his marital bed on more than one occasion? 

He wondered if she would start to cry when he asked her how many times she’d let Joe Adama frak her ass, and was it true on at least one occasion, his _son_ had been in the house?

His balls tightened as the old familiar fantasy of co-ed Laura, bottom up over Joe’s desk, merged with the image of the humiliated President Roslin, squirming in the witness seat like her ass remembered past penetrations. 

_Oh, gods, so close…_

He exploded into his hand imagining the look on the Admiral’s face. 

Next time, he’d imagine the look on Lee’s.


End file.
